


Get Comfortable

by talkingtothesky



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: First Time, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 01, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 08:51:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3375317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/pseuds/talkingtothesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reese has his feet up on Finch's desk yet again. Finch doesn't exactly teach him a lesson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Comfortable

**Author's Note:**

> I gave myself the prompt of [this picture](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/talkingtothesky/12368400/130255/130255_original.png).

Finch comes in to find Reese with his legs up on the desk again.

 

He crosses to the table, puts his tea down. "I see you've made yourself at home."

 

Reese gives him a closed-mouth smile, almost sheepish, not quite insolent.

 

"Stop." He states, as Reese grips the armrests, moves to lower his feet to the floor. "Stay exactly as you are."

 

"Harold?" Finch goes to stand behind Reese, Reese twisting his neck around, in exactly the way Finch can't, to try and look at him.

 

Harold puts his hands on Reese's shoulders. Better to show him, rather than talk about it.

 

After a moment's hesitation, he lets one hand slide up to cup the back of Reese's neck, while the other dips into the open collar, splays across his chest, Finch's left arm sliding as far as it'll comfortably go down inside Reese's shirt.

 

"Oh." Reese says, very quietly. "Okay." His hands come up, wrapping gently around Finch's arm. He brushes his cheek against the sleeve, then buries his nose in the fabric, breathing deeply in and out. The torso beneath Finch's palm expands and relaxes.

 

Finch murmurs into Reese's ear. "Undo your belt for me, would you?"

 

Reese gives up turning his head to the side. He simply tips it up against the back of the chair instead, so that he can aim his brightest smile at the ceiling. "Sure." Tucking his chin down again, he lets go of Finch's arm to do as he asks; the arm retreats, thumb grazing a nipple on the way.

 

Finch steps out from behind him, turns and leans against the table next to Reese's legs, touching his knee this time. He watches as the belt comes undone, as Reese gets his pants open. But then Reese pauses, suddenly shy.

 

"Carry on. You want to get comfortable at my desk, _be comfortable_." He prompts, with just enough steel that Reese's eyes close momentarily. He takes a slightly ragged breath before he meets Finch's gaze. They lock eyes fiercely, heat building in the air between them. Reese takes his cock out; nearly eleven seconds pass before Finch is brave enough to break eye contact and look directly at Reese's lap instead. He's flushed and beautiful, long fingers curling loosely around his shaft. Finch's own hand slides up from Reese's knee to squeeze gently at his thigh, wordless encouragement.

 

From there he's content to watch. More than content. There's plenty of new data to collect. New things to observe about how Reese manages his arousal, his technique, how the focus of his gaze alternates between his own lap and roving up and down Harold's figure. Absently, Finch reaches for the paper cup he left on the table beside him and takes a slow luxurious sip, the liquid fuelling the warmth inside his chest. Beneath his stiff shirt collar, Finch realises his neck is faintly damp with sweat. He opts to ignore that, and keep drinking, watching John's hands intently all the while. Sometime around the fourth or fifth mouthful he accidentally slurps - most undignified, but the noise causes John's rhythm to falter. He crooks two fingers tightly at the base, and Harold realises Reese just stopped himself. Judging by the heat he can feel radiating from his own face, Finch guesses he's most likely blushing.

 

John's eyes flick up to meet Harold's again. "You're just gonna drink your tea?" He's a little exasperated.

 

Finch somehow manages to sound calm, collected, unflustered. "It'd get cold otherwise. And you seem to have matters...in hand."

 

Reese uncrosses his ankles, lets the outer side of his right foot rest on the desk, opening his knees up. "I was hoping for your full attention."

 

Harold finishes the remainder of the tea in one long swallow, puts the empty cup down with a satisfyingly loud click. "You have it, Mr. Reese."

 

"Wanna put on a good show for you." Reese pants, as he starts tugging again, faster than before.

 

"Yes, I gathered. You've often settled yourself into some pose or another when I enter the library. There are at least seventeen books you've pretended to peruse in front of me while not absorbing a word of them."

 

"How do you figure that?"

 

"I know your natural reading speed, John. You turn the pages a fraction too quickly when you're faking."

 

"You'd have to be watching me pretty closely to..." John's grip looks almost painful now, but it certainly seems to be working for him, as he gasps and then bares his teeth, sucking air back in through them. "...work that out."

 

"Not particularly." Harold carefully removes his hand from Reese's thigh - he's been squeezing it fairly hard. He folds his arms across his chest, scoots backwards a bit so he's more comfortably perched on the edge of the table.

 

"God, Harold. Just. Keep talking." John's eyes are screwed shut but it's clear he's listening attentively.

 

For a moment, Harold is lost for words. But then he really looks at John, and it becomes obvious what he should say. "You're close, aren't you." He surmises. "Very soon you're going to come, and I won't even have to touch you."

 

"I _really_ want you to touch me." John grits out, almost laughing, but strained with effort.

 

"And I will," Harold assures him, soothingly. "But not this time."

 

"Next time?" John says, half-curious, half-pleading.

 

"Next time there'll be a bed, and I will spread these long limbs of yours out across it, and trace the full expanse of your skin with my tongue." Finch decides, on the spot.

 

And that does it. John comes with a low growl, all over his hands. His head slumps back against the chair. All the tension in him just vanishes. Finch reaches out quickly to prevent John's right foot from slipping off the desk. The library's usual dusty smell is mingled with something sweeter now.

 

Finch picks up one of Reese's hands and licks at it. The taste is rather nice, actually. Intriguing. An exhausted Reese lifts his head up and cracks his eyes open to stare at him. Finch ignores him in favour of curving his lips around the length of Reese's thumb and sucking more of the evidence away. The chair creaks, John shifting and arching his back. Harold finishes the job, getting right in between all of his fingers. When he's done with that hand, he picks up the other one without letting go of the first.

 

The feel of John's wrists in his grasp reminds him of something. "And perhaps tie you to the headboard again, if you wouldn't mind."


End file.
